


Vampires on the Rhine

by AceQueenKing



Category: DC Cinematic Universe, Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Moral Ambiguity, References to Dracula and Camilla, Relationship(s), Unhealthy Relationships, Vampire imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 01:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11818332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: Isabel Maru knows what the General wants from her, and it isn't love.





	Vampires on the Rhine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ComposerofDiscord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComposerofDiscord/gifts).



Isabel Maru swallows her pride when she knocks on the heavy metal knocker on General Erich Ludendorff's door. As if on cue, his maid answers.

 _"_ _Ja? Was can ich für sich tun?"_ she snaps in quick German. She takes in Isabel’s dark eyes and ravaged face and the Maid’s eyes become cold and dark. She is an old hire, one of Ludendorffs poor, dead young wife's hires. Isabel had never met the woman but knows much of her character from the artifacts left behind her: the portrait of the aristocratic blonde on the mantle, haughty nose turned up; the silver candlestick with unfamiliar crests made in Bavarian pewter; the delicate, unused vanity in Ludendorff’s bedroom; the servants who look at her like she is not fit to lick their lady's boots.

 _"_ _Der Feldherr, bitte,"_ she says, cool and unbothered. The maid is not her target; the General is. And Isabel Maru has been through this before. The maid fears her because she is a threat, she tells herself. She wonders which concerns the madchen more - that her master is moving on or that he has moved on without her. Either way, the worry is little more than folly; Ludendorff's interest in her is mostly academic, and his interest in mousy maids, too, is more in what they can do for him than what he can do for ether of them. Even the original, angelic-looking Frau Lugendorff fell under this unfair disadvantage; her beauty subsumed in what her family name and beautiful, northern looks could do for him.

Sometimes, she thinks, it has been the fate of women to be subsumed by men in this time; a century of women posing as Lucy Westenras, their life-force sapped away by Dracula's kiss at their neck. In truth, General Ludendorff - _Erich_ , in their private moments, though she is careful not to think of him as his first name often - reminds her a bit of _Herr Dracula_ ; the long-ranged widows peak, the crisp, old-world look of a count. He is a demi-god, an old-fashioned boogieman meant to scare the English and French and Russians, but she  - she is no Lucy. Like him, she subsists mainly on blood.

 Her hand grips the satchel she's brought with her, the reason for her visit. One of them, anyway.  The maid finishes eying her up after a moment and gestures for her to follow. "This way, _Frau Maru_ ," she says.

" _Doctor Maru_ ," Isabel supplies. It happens enough for her to do it automatically, without even taking the time to be offended. She wonders whether the General is ever called Herr Ludendorff rather than Der Feldherr. Somehow, she doubts it.

She walks down his hall, not stopping to admire the many, many decorative knick knacks and accoutrements of the Ludendorff family.  It is nothing like her home in Constantinople; where-as her home is spartan, Lugendorff’s is almost profanely ornate. His wealth dwarfs hers, she knows; the funding he gives her, precious lifeblood to her research.

The maid does not bother to announce her like she would for another _Feldherr_ or scientist. She simply opens the door and turns and Isabel steps through. There is little need to announce her, though; Ludendorff smiles at her, like she is Daphne to his Apollo.

“ _Merhaba_ , _doctor,”_ he says, his velvet tongue clotted with the pleasing syllables of her father’s language. It is meant to be a seduction, she understands; he throws his arm around her in a hug, his hand on her elbow. She closes her eyes and pretends, for one moment, to be his.

“ _Guten morgen, mein Feldherr_ ,” she purrs. He holds her tight just for a moment, his arm wrapped around around her side, before his fingers find their way to her precious treasure, the satchel she carries. Unlike most doctor’s bags, though, both of them know there is life-saving salves in her bag.

She is _not_ that kind of Doctor. He is Herr Dracula, and she is Carmilla; they are both hunters who thirst for death; both broken in the same way, even if only she bears the scars.

She drops it onto the table with an audible clink. “You brought me something?” He says, the words whispered into her ear. The hand curls around her waist, possessive, and Isabel leans into it. She is smart enough to know it is an illusion, but even an illusion can be pleasurable.

“ _Ja_ ,” she says, softly. She opens the lock and shivers as he rumbles into her ear; he is pleased, she can tell. “It came to me in a dream, _Erich_ ,” she says, slipping into a more intimate tone. He does not correct her; he is flattered, she can tell, by how _well_ he feels his plan is going.

“What is it you have dreamed up, Isabel?” His tone is full of longing and desire and she feels the sharp canines of his instincts, the want to hunt, to destroy. She knows. She feels it as well. “More poison?”

“No.” She holds out the dream capsule; the formula came to her as if by magic, the inspiration powerful. Isabel Maru does not believe in any Gods but she does, sometimes, believe in Muses, in inspiration. Who, she wonders, is the muse of warfare, of poison? She does not know. She supposes it does not matter. “This is a more …personal weapon.”

“Personal?” He purrs his mouth on her ear.

“Yes,” she says, turning to face him. She hands him a small pill. “This will make you unto a God on the battlefield; stronger, hardier. It will not repel bullets, but it will make our soldiers _better_.”

He does not ask if it is safe, swallowing it in one gulp without any water. He is a strong man, and she loves this about him, even if it will one day prove his downfall. Of this, she has no doubt. Hunters are always hunted, in the end; if not by a stronger beast, then by Death itself.

Isabel Maru does believe in death.  She has seen it too many times. It will come for her too; this she does not doubt.  

But for now, she allows Erich to grin and pull her close and press his lips to her neck. The knife-sharp kiss doesn't even hurt.


End file.
